


nemesis meets the paragon

by ncfan



Category: Excalibur (1981)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: The skies were gray, thick with distended, angry clouds, but the sun could not be wholly denied, and enough of its light broke through to be a signal as clear as any fire: miles off, still, and their armor flashed like silvered water.





	nemesis meets the paragon

The skies were gray, thick with distended, angry clouds, but the sun could not be wholly denied, and enough of its light broke through to be a signal as clear as any fire: miles off, still, and their armor flashed like silvered water. Brighter, much brighter than the last time Morgana spied knights from afar riding for Tintagel. Her mother might have taken that as an omen, but her mother rotted in her bed of earth, and Morgana knew of no omen that could be divined from the state of a man’s armor. Any brigand who laid his hands on wealth could afford to have better armor made for him, and have in his employ servants to keep it clean.

Still, Morgana ever kept her ear to the earth for news, and even had she not, a messenger had arrived in advance of this party some days before. Uther’s bastard had claimed Uther’s throne for his own. Uther’s bastard came to call.

She knew what he expected. It was what any new king expected of a vassal.

One could only hope that Arthur was better at holding to his vows than his father had proven, by the end.

“I wonder if anyone has bothered to tell him who I am,” Morgana remarked casually, as her handmaiden brought her the blue silk veil she had asked for.

The girl, Meraud, looked at her with something close to shock. “I am sure they have, milady.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Meraud’s face reddened slightly, but she went on, “The king must surely be looking for a bride. I cannot imagine his lords would for one moment wish for him to regard his own sister in such a light.”

Morgana laughed, the bright laugh of hollow bronze bells. “I suppose not. Let us go down and meet the new king, then.”

Morgana knew how to play the good hostess, the gracious and welcoming lady of the castle. She had had long enough to perfect the role, and no matter her feelings for the visitor, she could greet them with a smile. It was how she had held this castle, long after those who wished to take it from her had grown impatient when she would neither wed nor die nor retire to the care of the beleaguered Christian church. It was important that they think her to be a thing without power or resolve.

Arthur was fast uniting the entire isle behind him. A different approach would be needed.

The clatter of hooves against the cobblestones greeted Morgana’s ears as she descended the stairs. They did not waste time, these men. Uther hadn’t wasted time, either. He had betrayed her father almost the very moment he began to lust after her mother. She spared a moment to grit her teeth and stay her tongue, and went down to greet the visitors.

It was a group of six knights, all bright armor and bright swords and restive horses with gleaming, glossy coats. Morgana saw them before they saw her, and she could not, at first, determine which one of them was supposed to be Arthur. One of the older knights she recognized as Leodegrance, but the rest were strangers.

When they caught sight of her, she had her answer. Arthur was the one who did not kneel. Arthur was the one whose eyes lit up in what she could only describe as pure delight as he called out “Sister” and approached.

He had no guile, this one, no malice, and as Morgana made the last descent, she wondered.

She could imagine a world in which she loved him. A world in which her mother had been allowed to keep the boy and raise him, and Morgana loved the boy because her mother loved him. A world where the noble line of Cornwall were not completely the playthings of kings and sorcerers, a world where her mother had been more than the victim of meddling magicians, and Morgana could allow her heart to be anything but the purest, hardest steel.

She was drawn into an embrace that felt like embracing a statue cold as winter, and that world shattered and passed into oblivion. Rain began to drip down upon them, soft and barely noticeable, and to Morgana, each drop felt like a tear.

“You have your father’s eyes,” Morgana said to her brother, smiling as she tipped her bitterness back down her throat.


End file.
